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Stories

Convictions

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Author’s note:

This story unintentionally became an interesting writing experiment. As I often do, I wrote about an actual event in my life, with minor edits to names and events to make everything more concise, consistent, and digestible. I posted the story and heard from a few readers that they were unsatisfied with the ending…it built to an unfulfilling climax. So, I took that feedback and wrote an alternate ending. When I posted the new version of the story, those that had been previously disappointed responded their approval…this was what they had wanted, thank you. But I also received several comments from others about how they preferred the original ending, that the new one seemed like “too much.”

So, here below are both versions, the first intact, followed by the alternate ending. I hope that you enjoy one of them, both, or at least the experiment.  -JL  

Kevin stared at his iPhone, confused.

He electronically bookmarked the novel in his Kindle to better focus on the image that had just buzzed into his phone. Chicago’s west side raced past the windows of the commuter train behind the photo in Jessica’s text.

What the hell? Kev thought as he looked at the screen.

Three little periods below the picture signaled that Jess was busy texting him some sort of explanation. He tried to solve the mystery of what this was before the answer appeared. It was simple, yet bizarre. A red, quart-sized plastic container sat inverted on his kitchen floor with a 28 ounce can of Bush’s Homestyle baked beans resting on top…some child’s tower of kitchen related items.

Beans? The can was upside down. Was that significant?

The three dots gave way to a text message explanation he had not considered.

“A HUGE spider crawled across the kitchen floor while I was feeding the boys this morning,” the text read. “I trapped it for you.”

“For me??” Kev replied.

“To take care of,” came her response. “When you get home.”

It’s not that she didn’t want it dead, she just didn’t want to do it herself. That responsibility had been deemed very early in their marriage to be one of the most sacred of husband-related duties. But he was already on his way to work, so she made arrangements for him to fulfill his obligation later.

Kev never understood this unnatural fear of spiders. They are generally not interested in humans. They eat other pests in the house, keeping that circle of life in balance inside their split-level universe. This need to exterminate the creatures seemed an unprovoked over-reaction to the little critters just doing their thing.

Jess did not see it that way.

All bugs were to be stamped out of existence. Literally. Especially spiders. Preferably by Kev. 

A few minutes later, as Kev’s train made its final turn into the station in the city, his phone buzzed again to announce a photo update of the spider-death-watch.

“So the boys won’t get curious and release the prisoner while I’m at work,” Jess’s follow up text explained. The portable baby gate that they had used to corral Theo when he was a puppy was now used to keep him and his adoptive canine brother Frank away from the spider.

Clever. Resourceful, thought Kev. He placed his phone in his pocket and exited the train. Overly elaborate. An arachnid death row prison.

A lot of expectation had been built in anticipation of Kev’s return home to execute the prisoner. Their dogs had been and continued to be very curious and diligent in their vigil circling the perimeter of the cell, occasionally stopping to scratch at the Pergo floor in an attempt to get to the controversial pest.

Their daughter Katie and her high school friends found the scene Snap-Chatable, marveling, laughing, then moving on to the pantry for snacks en route to Netflix in the family room. Katie had a piano lesson at six o’clock, just about the time Dad the Executioner arrived home from work. He passed Jess and Katie on their way out in the mudroom at the entrance to the garage.

“It’s all ready for you,” Jess said to Kev in lieu of a kiss hello.

The dogs were eager to greet Kev with plenty of affection as he entered the kitchen, excitedly alternating between displaying their pleasure to once again be graced with his presence and running to the prison walls to show him the new household development. Maybe he would move the fencing and allow them to scratch and sniff at this can-laden plastic box invading their turf. The small dogs, Frank, a brown, Yorkie/Pomeranian mix, just under ten pounds, and Theo, a black, Maltese/Poodle, clocking in at just over twelve, wound excitedly between his legs and over to the little prison and back again.

Kev shook his head at the scene. It was exactly as it had been portrayed electronically, yet seemed more bizarre to witness first hand. He decided to change out of his work clothes before taking care of this dirty business, returning a couple of minutes later clad in shorts and a t-shirt and sporting comfy, un-cool dad-Crocs, in case he needed to stomp the life outta something. The dogs had remained on guard and welcomed his return with wide eyes, extended tongues, and wildly wagging back sides.

“Okay. Okay, get back,” Kev said to the dogs, though not in a mean way. They obeyed but hovered close by. He moved the safety cage aside and considered his options. The most obvious was a swift pull on the plastic cage and a well-timed stomp. In the unlikely case of a miss, a second strike seemed assured success. The spider had been trapped near the center of the kitchen. Too much distance to the nearest crack or crevice for even the swiftest spidey-legs to cross before certain dad-Croc doom.

But as Kev envisioned the scamper, pop, and squish, he felt a reluctance creep into his soul. The poor thing had committed no great offense. Trespassing during the daylight seemed to be its greatest crime. And what kind of lifespan do these things have anyway? A few days? A few weeks? Even if it made it a year or two, this day it had already spent imprisoned was equivalent to an incarceration of years by human standards. Hadn’t it suffered enough?

Kev looked out the window at the beautiful, sunny summer evening. He didn’t know if a house spider could survive the outdoors, but knew that such banishment would surely be more lenient than the sole of his shoe.

He looked around the room and spied a piece of paper and a roll of scotch tape at the little desk area near the phone. With them in hand, he shooed the very interested canine duo away again and sat down on the floor in front of the prisoner.

Kev tried to slide the paper under the translucent plastic container, but the beans weighed it down too much. He set the can aside on the floor and the spider moved. He was glad to be able to see through the walls of the red tinted container so he knew exactly where the creature was at all times. This was Kev’s first realization of its size. Its body was larger than the horse flies on his grandpa’s farm. The legs easily stretched to two inches in diameter.

He tried the paper again and only managed a small corner before it stopped. Frank walked up to the can of beans and gave it a sniff. Theo walked up behind Frank and gave him a sniff. Dogs.

Kev needed to lift the container slightly but thought, It won’t take much for this critter to escape. And he’s been sitting there for hours plotting nothing else. And here’s me all comfy and cross-legged on the floor practically begging for retaliation. 

Kev gingerly, slowly, deftly lifted the plastic container with one hand while shoving the paper with the other. The spider became quite agitated or maybe it was just curious. At any rate, there was significant spidey-movement. So much so that Kev felt its body thumping against the inside of the container, mere millimeters from his hand. 

He started thinking that without the can-o-beans’ 28 ounces of downward pressure, this beast may just be able to knock over the lightweight container and escape.

Thump! Again against the side, sensing the perimeter weakness. Seeing with its many beady eyes potential freedom to further terrorize the fine female humans of the home.

Kev continued carefully shoving the paper flooring into place beneath the pesky bug’s clawed, scampering feet until finally it met the far edge of the container. Then he easily maneuvered the plastic cage to the center of the paper, creating an inch or more perimeter around the edge.

Kev unrolled a long piece of scotch tape and found instantly that this would not do at all. Way too thin, way too easily bent to produce a spider-escaping-and-crawling-up-his-arm-or-leg-and-into-his-hair-biting-biting-BITING opening. 

He placed the can temporarily back on top, just in case, and went to the drawer for duct tape. 

Four pulls and sticks and the mobile trap was secure. Kev tested the seal all the way around before lifting the little red prison, marveling at his accomplishment and getting a really close look at the monster. Kev was surprised at how hairy it was. It thumped aggressively against the side of the container that Kev was peering into, as if it were charging at him.

Wolf spider, Kev thought. Common. Harmless. Huge.

The spider was really active now. Scurrying around the cozy closed circuit like a NASCAR driver. Kev stood up and the dogs alternately jumped vertically up and down alongside him. They wanted a closer look, too. Kev transported the prisoner outside, leaving the boys inside the porch, their wet noses pressed against the glass of the door, anxious to join in whatever Kev was about to do next.

Kev moved several feet from back door, to the concrete slab at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. He laid the cage on its side, paper-side exposed. He looked around and found a good sized stick from the silver maple that was always good for providing discarded sticks in the yard. Kev placed one dad-Croc’d foot against the plastic to hold it steady and whacked the stick against the paper, a mini, spider-filled piñata, producing a small tear in the fabric. The spider didn’t immediately burst forth like Alien from a well-fed torso. Kev struck the paper again, tearing open a gaping escape hatch. 

He stood back and waited. After several seconds, the spider finally, slowly emerged. Maybe it did not trust the new environment. Maybe it had grown comfortable in its new one. It retreated back inside the plastic container.

“Seriously?” Kev said aloud.

He lightly kicked the plastic end to coax it back into freedom. That seemed to work. Kev cautiously picked up the container and shook the beast free of it. The spider stood on the concrete, multi-eyeballing Kev to see if he would finally come through with the dad-Croc after all. 

Then it scurried off into the grass. In search of dinner, no doubt. 

Bon voyage, little guy, Kev thought. And stay outta my kitchen.

Kev felt good about his leniency. Dad the Merciful had a nice ring to it. He was sure he would be called to execute some other bug soon and to do so without hesitation, just to stop the associated screaming if nothing else. But in this moment, he savored the endorphins of compassion coursing through him, producing an overwhelming need to smile.

It was then that he noticed Jess glaring at him from inside the back door, the two canine sentinels at her feet. 

###

Alternate Ending…

The spider was really active now. Scurrying around the cozy closed circuit like a NASCAR driver. Kev stood up and the dogs alternately jumped vertically up and down alongside him. They wanted a closer look, too. Kev transported the prisoner outside, leaving the boys inside the porch, their wet noses pressed against the glass of the door, anxious to join in whatever Kev was about to do next.

Kev felt good about his leniency. Dad the Merciful had a nice ring to it. He was sure he would be called to execute some other spider soon and to do so without hesitation, just to stop the associated screaming. But in this moment, he savored the endorphins of compassion coursing through him, producing an irrepressible smile.

Kev moved several feet from the back door to the concrete slab at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. Two porcelain flower pots overflowing with Jess’s prized begonias adorned each side of the landing. He laid the cage on its side against one of the pots, paper-side exposed. He looked around and found a good sized stick from the silver maple that was always good for providing discarded sticks in the yard. Kev placed one dad-Croc’d foot against the plastic to hold it steady and whacked the stick against the paper, a mini, spider-filled piñata, producing a small tear in the fabric. But the spider didn’t immediately burst forth like Alien from a well-fed torso. Kev struck the paper again, tearing open a gaping escape hatch. 

He stood back and waited. After several seconds, the spider finally, slowly emerged. It stood on the jagged edge of the torn paper opening, octo-eyeballing Kev to see if he would finally come through with the dad-Croc after all. Maybe it did not trust the new environment, maybe it had become institutionalized, either way, it retreated back inside the plastic container.

“Seriously?” Kev said aloud.

He lightly kicked the plastic end to coax it back into freedom. The spider remained inside. Kev cautiously picked up the container to shake the beast free of it. He could feel it thumping around on the inside, refusing to drop through the hole Kev had so graciously provided.

It was then that he noticed Jess standing inside the back door, the two canine sentinels at her feet.  She gave him her well-worn WTF are you doing? look. Frank barked once to punctuate her glare.

Before Dad the Merciful could explain himself, time shifted into that slo-mo mode when something horrible and unavoidable is unfolding, allowing the memory to be permanently etched with every detail of the moment. Dandelion seeds float in the air a little more slowly, butterfly wings flutter at half-speed, and the expression on Jess’s face melts from disapproval to terror. His eyes, the only mobile part of his time-frozen body, followed Jess’ gaze down the length of his extended right arm to the now sprung trap he held. The spider changed its mind, left the cage, and was quickly moving along his arm, up his shoulder, and onto his back.

It moved very, very fast.

The scream was so high-pitched, perhaps only the dogs heard it. They were both certainly reacting, barking wildly and digging at the glass bottom of the storm door to get outside. Kev assumed it was Jess screaming. She was the master of screaming at the sight of spiders and random bugs and had even made screaming disciples of their two daughters.

It was long after the “incident” before Kev acknowledged that he had been the source of the scream. In the moment (the very slow, eternally-drawn-out-for-maximum-terrorizing-effect moment), he was dancing up and down, spinning in a circle, the empty red cage flung far into the backyard. He knocked one wildly gyrating dad-Croc’d foot against one of the prized porcelain pots. It scooted back a few inches, suddenly teetering on the edge of the steps to the basement, pausing to provide Jess just enough time to notice it and think Maybe it won’t fall before gravity and fate conspired to dash that wish as easily as they did the pot.

Meanwhile, Kev had no idea where the spider was.

Did it jump or get flung from his spinning torso? Or did it slip under his collar to seek shelter within the confines of his shirt? Highly unlikely, but in the panic, Kev didn’t waste time contemplating the odds. The t-shirt was quickly torn over his head and flung equally distant as the plastic container, though on an altered trajectory.

Jess looked way from her ruined begonias to see if any neighbors, alerted by Kev’s screams, were witness to this scene. Sure enough, Mrs. Kennedy who never had a positive thing to say but was always willing to share ad nauseum nonetheless, was standing at her kitchen window, taking it all in. Kev continued to spin in place, combing wildly through his hair with both hands. He did stop screaming (if it had been him, he still wasn’t sure).

Jess opened the back door and released the hounds. Frank immediately charged to Kev’s aid. Theo made a beeline to the red container, the object that had taunted them all day. He gave it a thorough sniffing before lifting his back leg high over the torn paper side and soaked it with urine.

Frank jumping and biting at the cuffs of his shorts, shirtless Kev stopped writhing, his hands coming to rest atop his head, accurately portraying the image of What have I done?

Jess walked over to him, looked down at the broken pot, then over his shoulder to confirm that Mrs. Kennedy was still riveted. Jess waved at her to acknowledge that she knew that she knows. She turned back to Kev. “You had one job.”

Kev lowered his hands to his sides and looked down at his untainted dad-Crocs. He, too, glanced at the begonias. They had a chance of surviving, but that pot was done. He had gone from Dad the Executioner to Dad the Merciful to Dad the Destroyer.

Frank made his way to the now soiled container, gave it a proper sniff, then added his own mark. Kev decided to leave it there.  Maybe the spider would seek it out and make it his permanent residence. He crossed the yard to retrieve his t-shirt.  

Back inside the house, Kev tossed the t-shirt down the laundry shoot, opting for a fresh one…just to be safe. The t-shirt came to rest atop the pile of dirty clothes in the laundry room. Within the folds of the shirt, where it indeed crawled and clung to as it was stripped and flung, and nestled within while being transported back into the house and down into the basement, sat the spider.

It slowly made its way through tunnels of fabric to an opening where it then crawled to the edge of the basket. Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting for Jess to do a quick load before dinner.

Stories

Wiggy

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Becca piloted the yellow rubber duck along the surface of the bath water, launching it through a berg of soap bubbles with a “Whoosh!” and sending it soaring for a victory flight.

As the duck dove back into the water, Kev submerged a bar of soap and launched it up his daughter’s spine. Becca laughed and wriggled at the touch.

“Did that tickle?” Kev asked, setting the bar in the corner of the tub and reaching for the bottle of no-tears Muppet shampoo.

Becca resumed her duck’s circuit back through the bubble berg. “It makes me feel wiggy.”

“Wiggy?” Becca’s vocabulary was pretty good for a four-year-old. This sounded not like a mistake, but a word she had coined.

“You know, that oogy-feeling,” she explained, matter-of-fact, as the duck again launched and plunged. “Like worms in your hair.”

Sometimes Kev would pretend he held an egg full of worms and crack it over Becca’s head, his fingertips wriggling over her scalp and down her back. Becca would squirm and squeal, “Again! Again!”

She set the sudsy duck on the edge of the tub, sat up, peered over the side, and scanned the floor near the toilet. “Can I read my book?”

Kev’s hands were busy massaging the shampoo into a lather and working it through her shoulder length blonde hair. “In the tub?”

“Yeah,” Becca said, pretending she didn’t know better. The board book pages would not survive a reading in the tub. She had not quite finished the book during her pre-bath big-girl potty time. Even though she could recite the tale word for word from memory, she did not like to leave it undone. After all, the story was a mystery that needed to be solved.

“Why don’t you finish it after your bath?” Kev suggested. He filled a large plastic cup to rinse her hair.

“It’s not a bedtime book, it’s a bathroom book, Daddy.” Duh implied.

Kev spied the book as he placed a finger under Becca’s chin and lifted slowly so she would face the ceiling while he rinsed the shampoo from her hair. Grover, the affable, goofy blue Muppet of Sesame Street fame, warned clearly from The Little Golden Book cover that there would be a monster at the end. This was Becca’s current favorite bathroom text. The suspense that built with each turning page stirred in her that wiggy feeling of nervous excitement, even though she knew full well that the book’s “monster” was only Grover himself, not scary at all.

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” Kev said. He flipped the metal toggle to drain the tub. “Your bath is all done. Time to dry off.”

Kev enjoyed these times when it was his turn to get Becca ready for bed. Jess would handle his usual post-dinner dish washing and dog walking duties. It would not be long before their little princess was too big for her daddy to help with the bath routine. Unfortunately, the dirty dishes and dog poo would never outgrow him.

Tonight, Jess had the bedtime story honors. Once that was complete and she clicked off the big light, Kev rejoined Becca in her bedroom.

“Good night,” he said with a kiss.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Becca chimed in with the sing-song benediction of her bedtime ritual.

Kev kissed her again, told her he loved her and wished her sweet dreams.

Becca usually had no problems sleeping through the night. When she did stir, her trusty night light and soft, ragged blankie usually provided enough security to lull her back to dreamland.

But not that night.

The hard oak floorboards that stretch along the hallway connecting her bedroom to the master bedroom are riddled with fifty-odd years of creaks and moans, alerting Kev to her midnight visit before she made it to his bedside. She stood cuddling her blankie in the crook of her neck, not making a sound. Jess remained still, breathing deeply, not quite a snore. The dog looked up sleepily from his spot at the foot of the bed long enough to make a quick assessment of the situation before dropping his head heavily back to the covers.

Even in the faint light of the room, Kev could see Becca’s lower lip protruding in a serious pout.

“What’s the matter, honey?” he whispered, not wanting to wake Jess.

Something unsettling she’d experienced during the day had crept to the forefront of her mind in the dark of the night.

“Will you lie down in bed with me,” she asked, “for just a few minutes?”

They’d had the discussion about how big girls can go to sleep all on their own. And Becca had embraced that concept, though not enthusiastically. But that night’s appeal seemed out of the ordinary. She was being haunted by some new bogeyman.

Kev smiled and wiped a tear away from her cheek with his thumb. What kind of father would he be to turn down the chance to provide his baby the feeling of safety and security as she drifted off to sleep?

The mid-July night was pleasant—low humidity. The warm breeze that blew in through the open bedroom window was a refreshing change from the past week of stagnant air conditioning. Kev tucked Becca into her twin bed and again kissed her forehead. She smiled, now certain that Daddy would keep her safe. She scooted closer to the wall, providing room for Kev to slide in next to her. He remained on top of the covers to allow himself an easier escape once she was conked out.

Kev lay on his back with his right arm cocked behind his neck and stared ahead, avoiding the allure of sleep as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim room, illuminated only by the small, partially obscured night light. Kev felt as relaxed and content as any father could be.

Until an odd, shadowy movement caught his eye.

Given the room’s lighting and his state of semi-consciousness, Kev couldn’t be sure, but it looked like something was crawling across his shirt, from his belly toward his face. Perhaps the hungry bed bug of legend had come to feast at last.

His pulse quickened.

Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on him. His eyes strained to focus on his T-shirt. The folds of the shirt and the angle of the low light created ample shadows across his torso. Kev remained still, not wanting to alarm Becca, though every muscle in his body was taut. Kev didn’t blink, he didn’t want to miss any possible movement, and was rewarded for the effort. One of the shadows suddenly moved with remarkable speed. It was huge. Becca stirred beside him, not quite asleep. Kev didn’t want her to panic. He was there to protect. Yet panic seemed eager for a victim and Kev proved to be fertile ground as the enormous thing scurried closer. Closer.

Closer.

It crested the collar of his shirt. Instinct overpowered his rational mind. His left hand slapped wildly at the front of his shirt. Kev was sweating and his heart was pounding. But Becca remained unaware of the danger.

An open hand still firmly against his chest, Kev groped about it to detect the creature. A tickling at the base of his palm confirmed that something was there. An invader. If it were a spider, he’d probably crushed it dead. But he had to know for sure. Kev didn’t want some fatally wounded creature of the night exacting its final revenge on his daughter.

Then a thought hit him, the kind of thought that only comes in bed, at night, when the lights are low and the shadows long: that the thing might be burrowing into his hand. Or worse, his chest—like some horrid, tiny monster from a B-movie on late night cable.

A gasp escaped his lips and Kev leapt from the bed, arms flailing as he snapped on the lights.

Becca sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Uh…nothing, honey,” Kev tried to assure her, failing to assure himself, realizing his startled leap had allowed the fiend to fall from his grasp. Kev searched the bed, pulling back the covers and the sheets, then checking and re-checking his shirt, his shorts, and the floor. No writhing horror. No scurrying terror. No twitching corpse.

Nothing.

Becca’s innocence and drowsiness kept her from suspecting the true nature of his sudden urge to ransack her bed.

“Did you lose something?” she asked, now fully awake.

Kev slid the mattress away from the wall and surveyed the dark crevice. If it had made it that far, its escape would be certain.

“Daddy?”

He pushed the mattress back into place, cupped the back of her head in his hand, smiled and calmly replied that he thought he had lost something, but must have been mistaken. She smiled in return, satisfied. Kev turned off the lights, returned to the bed, kissed and covered his daughter, and, now very, very awake, reviewed the recent events in his mind.

It had all happened so fast, it was possible he had imagined it in a near-dream state. Had his subconscious latched onto that old saying about the bed bugs and fabricated the entire event? No. Kev was certain he’d seen it—some thing—had felt it against his skin. Yes, it was real. But where was it now? It had moved so fast. Could bugs move that quickly? His mind accelerated with his lurching heart. He re-propped his head with his cocked right arm and kept his left hand free, ready to strike at the first sign of movement. It had probably fallen to the floor when he had jumped up, and scampered under the bed or maybe the nightstand. Kev tried to focus on the thought that he was safe, they were safe—whatever it was, was gone now—gone for good.

Bugs really bothered Kev, especially at night. He knew it was silly. He understood the math. He was thousands of times more massive and powerful than any lurking critter. But the thought of even a harmless millipede scampering across his body left Kev feeling all, well, wiggy—goose bumps, cold sweats, and chills down his spine. Picturing spiders or other ungodly nocturnal nasties crawling upon his little princess in search of her blood sent Kev into paternal protector mode.

Becca cuddled close. After five minutes without further incident, Kev began to realize that the intruder was unlikely to return, especially if he’d frightened or harmed it. His breathing and heart rate returned to normal. Lulled by the warmth and reassurance of his daughter’s body against his, Kev felt his eyelids grow heavy. He could actually feel himself drifting off to sleep when he felt an itch in his right armpit, the one next to Becca. Kev tried to ignore it, but the more he did, the more the itch intensified. He was wide awake again. Becca’s breathing revealed her escape to dreamland, so Kev carefully reached over with his left hand and slowly scratched the irritating spot. Mission accomplished, he re-set his left hand in a defensive position, and resumed his vigil.

The itch returned. The more inconvenient it is to scratch an itch, the more it seems to recur. Again, Kev waited, taking in deep breaths of the fresh night air, hoping in vain the itch would abate. First the bug, now this itch. His mood had swung from wiggy to vigilant to irritated.

It seemed his promise to calm Becca into sleep was satisfied, so he began plotting his escape without waking her.

The itch moved.

Eyes wide, Kev realized that the source of the itch was something inside his shirt, clawing its way through the hair in his armpit. The creature wound its way through the curly brush, soon to pounce from beneath the fabric of his shirt to Becca’s nearby head. Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream spiking his heart rate to light speed.

His left hand swooped in, the thumb and forefinger finding their prey and, with a pinch, halted any possibility of escape. A squeeze produced a discernable crunch, the sound of an exoskeleton under duress. Kev sat up, holding the insect captive. Becca stirred. “I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” he told her and made a quick exit.

In one fluid motion, Kev flicked the bathroom light on with his right elbow and shut the door behind him with a kick of his foot. His thumb and forefinger squeezed together again, and he was rewarded with another audible scrunch. Kev hovered over the gaping toilet bowl, positioning himself so that, upon the release of his vice-like hold, gravity would drag the bug to its watery tomb.

He released his grip, but nothing fell.

Kev shook his shirt and frantically checked the floor. Still nothing. Was he going mad? Had it flown away? He scanned the ceiling while grasping clumsily at his armpit. He decided to take his shirt off and shake it out. It wasn’t until his head was below the neck hole, inside the shirt, that Kev realized that that was where the bug must be. He imagined a multi-legged, fanged and venomous creature lunging at his nostrils. He stripped the shirt from his back with a quick jerk. He shook the garment, checked the floor…nothing. Kev looked in the mirror—just in case.

It was on his head. Scurrying through his coarse, rapidly graying hair.

The wigginess returned, intensified. As if electrocuted, his whole body convulsed, his feet dancing as he slapped frantically at his head. Dislodged, the bug was smacked against the wall, then fell with a thud to the floor. Even after all the slapping and squeezing, it was able to move with uncanny speed. Near the base of the sink, it made a frenzied dash for a crack in woodwork. Barefoot and still freaked out, Kev whacked at it with the shirt, but the bug stayed its course. He grabbed Becca’s rubber duck and brought it crashing down on the six-legged fiend. It was an incapacitating blow.

With a satisfied smile, Kev said, “Duck you.”

Using a tissue plucked from the box on the tank of the toilet, he brought the still-writhing insect in for closer inspection.

It was enormous. Black, with brownish markings, some kind of beetle, perhaps. Not a cockroach, but…what was this? Kev brought it within an inch of his nose—it had two huge pincers, like the claws of a lobster.

That’s when it leapt back to full life and onto his face.

Kev reacted as though set on fire. Sputtering and blowing viciously out of his nose in a panicked attempt to keep it from clawing its way into his nasal cavity and—who knows—raising a small family there. He bludgeoned his face with his hands and the creature fell again to the floor. This time, shoeless be damned, Kev stomped and felt a crunch beneath the meaty part of his foot. Remembering the big pincers, he retracted his foot and watched in horror and amazement as the thing continued to limp toward the door.

Becca’s Little Golden Book on the floor and caught his eye. Kev grabbed it and threw it onto his nemesis.

Just then, the bathroom door swung open and a bleary-eyed Becca stumbled in, still clutching her blankie. She stepped squarely onto her book, oblivious to the source of the crunchy, popping sound emanating from beneath it.

“Are you done going potty?” she asked. Why else would Kev be in the bathroom at this hour?

His eyes never left the book. Grover continued to smile that Muppet smile, but now a new monster resided at the end of this book. On the back cover, to be precise. Kev stood breathless, waiting for a small claw to appear from beneath an edge of The Little Golden tomb, like a slasher flick villain refusing to die—this tiny monster determined to extract its hideous body for one final assault against his precious daughter.

“Daddy?” she asked, puzzled by his disheveled, shirtless, distracted state.

With a nervous, unconvincing smile, Kev suggested she go back to bed.

“I’m thirsty,” she protested, shifting her minimal weight to the foot not resting on the book. That might be all the hellish creature needed to escape. Kev rushed her back around the corner to her room, promising a cup of water in a moment. Back in the bathroom, he cautiously flipped the book over, revealing the very squished corpse of his waking nightmare. Kev wiped the remains off the cover with a tissue, then dropped it into the drink, flushing it into oblivion.

He put his shirt back on, filled a Dixie cup with water, turned out the light and returned to Becca’s bedroom. Her thirst quenched, Kev again reclined beside her and she in turn drew close to his side.

“Good night, don’t let the bed bugs bite,” she chanted, wrapping her tiny arms around him, snuggling close, sighing. Relaxed. Content. Asleep.

The inside of Kev’s eyelids revealed hordes of the deceased pest’s relatives swarming from the woodwork to take up where their fallen comrade had left off. They dispersed as his eyes shot open, yet every shadow moved. Squirmed. The gentle breeze crawled across the hair on his arms.

Kev lay awake for hours.